King of the basement: Round 1!!!

[Andy C.]

Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, children of all ages! Welcome to the greatest creative-writing smackdown your eyes have ever witnessed! For the next thirty grueling days, you will take part in a contest to decide who will rise above the common mortal rabble, and ascend to Hype RPG Immortality! Many will try (hopefully), but there can only be one....KING OF THE BASEMENT!!!!


Okay, now that the hyperbole's out of the way, here is how this is going down.

My name is Andy C., and I will be the host/judge of this contest, which I'm hoping to make a semi-annual thing. The contest begins when I announce the theme of the round, around which all submissions must be based in one way or another. From that point, any and all interested forum-goers can submit material for judgment. Anyone can enter, participants can submit as many different posts as they like, and there is no set continuity; just the theme itself. Similar to the Create-A-Post thread, but with a competition involved.

The contest ends after thirty days, after which I will announce a winner, and the winner will receive a cake. Seriously. I will go to the store, and buy a very real cake with very real money, and mail it to you (or if the Post Office won't let me do that, I'll order it online or something). Also, I'll probably make an award for you to use in your sig.



ROUND BEGINS: Thursday, April 22nd
ROUND ENDS: Saturday, May 22nd
THEME: "The Wonderful World of Walt Disney...as written by Frank Miller."

[YT]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EAwWPadFsOA[/YT]
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EAwWPadFsOA

IT HAS BEGUN!!!!

 

[wiegeabo]

Do I have to fix everyone's youtube?

 

[Carnage27]

So is this the OOC-type thread? Or is there just one thread?

 

[Andy C.]

Just one thread--I figure this particular rpg/contest/whatever-you-wanna-call-it can get by with just the one thread, since we're not having to keep everyone's stuff in continuity.

 

[Carnage27]

Okay cool. I'll have Part 1 of my story up tonight, probably.

 

[Carnage27]

The Jungle Cruise Adventures:​

In the Heart of Darkness​

Part 1​

​

The smell of smoke and booze hangs heavy in the air. I take a sip of whiskey, allowing the warming liquid to slowly slide down my throat. It’s good, and calming. Something that reminds me of the civilized world, rather than the savage world I’m used to. Still the people in the States aren’t much better than the natives of the jungle. Instead of killing you with spears, they’ll come after you with lies, subterfuge, and bull ****.

But not here. Not on Pleasure Island. The island is the place where people like me come when they come back to the mainland. Hard working people like soldiers, navy men, adventurers, and explorers. Located off the coast of California, it was bought by the most famous, and richest, adventurer of all time, Merriweather Pleasure, who transformed it to a haven for people like us.

Pleasure’s a real standup guy. Tells things like they are, and is quick to defend his friends. I’m lucky enough to call myself one of them, being one of his best employees. The name’s Harper Davis, skipper of the Congo Queen, a transport and exploring vessel of the Jungle Navigation Company, one of Pleasure’s many business fronts. The job pays well, if you survive the natives, animals, and just the general **** of the jungle that is. But I can’t complain. I get to travel all over the world, and I get to meet plenty of different kinds of women.

Most of us spend our first nights back in the states here, and the place to be on the island is the Adventurers Club. I’m sitting in the main salon of the place, surrounded by artifacts and findings of incredible historic, some even supernatural, significance. The fellow patrons in the club surrounding me are a venerable who’s who of the adventuring world, and here is a place we can be relax, be friends, or more.

To my left is the mask room, housing different ceremonial masks from all over the world. I can here Hathaway Brown, the club’s resident ace pilot and ladies man, blathering on with one of his bull **** stories about discovering one of the mask’s. I get up and head towards him, knocking on two of the masks as I go. One of them awakens as I do, ethereal eyes appearing in its eye-holes, “What the hell do you want?”

​

“Nice to see you too, Claude,” I chuckle. “Hathaway’s telling one of his stories again. Want to call his bluff?”

“Nah, it isn’t worth it. He’ll still get laid by one of those bimbos anyway. Why can’t we get some respectable women in here?”

“What would be the point to that?” the mask next to Claude, this one named Arnie, says awakening. “You’re a freaking mask, numb nuts.”


Arnie and Claude were brothers cursed by a voodoo priestess after they stole an artifact from here. They're doomed to spend eternity with their souls bound to these masks, unable to go to the next plane of existence.


“I’ve still got a mouth, termites-for-brains,” Clyde shoots back. “And I can still use it.”

“I don’t think they’d appreciate splinters in their panties,” Arnie responds.

I walk away as the masks continue to bicker between each other, and pat Brown on the back, distracting him from the gaggle of women staring adoringly at him, “Sorry, ladies, but I need to take Hathaway the Great away for a moment.”


Brown’s a brave guy, but he tends to toot his own horn more than anyone I’ve ever met. If you ask him, he’s screwed queens, princesses, and every dame in Hollywood. If you ask me, the only thing he’s ever felt is his hand. But still, he’s a damn good pilot, and has gotten me out of plenty of jams.

The two of us head back into the main salon, and take a seat by an old man asleep in a rocking chair, dressed head to toe in an old British Army uniform, “He’s always sleeping nowadays isn’t he?”

“Well the Colonel is over a hundred, Harper,” Brown replies taking a sip of his drink. “Glad to see you showed up. Fletcher, Otis, and I all agreed you were the best person to call about the…dilemma we’ve come across.”

“I’m still waiting to hear about that. What’s going on?” I ask sitting forward intently.

“I’ll go get Fletcher and Otis. I think you should hear it from them,” he says standing and walking off. I sigh in disgust. Sometimes the tradition and hierarchy of the club bogs down its business transactions. Nothing can happen here without Fletcher and Otis, and sometimes it’s maddening.

“Harper, I didn’t know you were going to be here tonight,” a silky voice purrs in my ear. I turn to find Samantha Sterling, the club’s cabaret singer, smiling and biting her lower lip slightly. “I would have cancelled my show tonight to spend some…quality time with you. We always have so much fun.”

I return her smile. She isn’t lying. She’s the reason I usually come to the club. You just don’t find a lay like Sam anywhere in the wilds, or the other places in the civilized world, and a man gets lonely being in the middle of the jungle for months on end. But it still amazes me that she’ll sleep with me with the way I look…

And she looks damn good tonight. Her blond hair falling over her shoulders and tickling her breasts, her vest pushing them up and displaying some terrific cleavage. Her lips moistened as she runs her tongue over them. But tonight is different. Tonight is about business. “Sorry, sweetheart. Not tonight. Otis and Fletcher called me in, and they sounded pretty frantic.”

“Aw, baby,” she says, giving me a pouting face. “Maybe once your meeting is done? I’ll be waiting in my dressing room.”

She flips her hair over her shoulder and walks slowly away. The old “I hate to see her go, but I love to watch her leave” never made more sense to me. I know a lot of savages that would go wild for that ass. And the mere sight of it brings back some very, very nice memories.

I’m roused from my naughty day dreams by the Scottish accent of Otis T. Wren, “Harper! Glad to see ya, my boy! How’ve you been?”

“Not bad, Otis, not bad,” I say shaking the rail-thin man’s hand. The fez sitting on his head makes him look like a bird in the circus, and the thick glasses don’t improve his comical look. Still, he’s smart. Almost too smart for his own good. He’s cheated powerful men out of money and even some of the artifacts hanging in this salon, it still amazes me that he’s alive. “What’s the problem? You and Fletch sounded pretty worried.”

“Step into the library, Harper,” Fletcher Hodges, the club’s curator, says, stepping out from behind Brown and Wren. Fletcher always looks slouched, like he was put in a press when he was a kid and never recovered. Still, he’s a nice guy, and always has my favorite brand of whiskey ready for me when I get back. “This isn’t for the general public’s ears.”

I follow the three men into the spacious library of the club. Books are stacked two stories to the ceiling, and the smell of old parchment replaces those of the main bar. As soon as we enter, the mellow sounds of a piano quietly playing enter my ears, and I look up to see the old piano playing itself. Or, rather, the ghost of it’s former owner playing it. I walk up to the instrument and pat the top, “How ya been, Fingers?”

The piano responds with a happy jingle, signifying the spirit that inhabited it was doing well. The piano was donated to the club and Fletcher when Fingers Zambeizi, the famed jazz pianist, died suddenly. Little did Fletcher know that Zambeizi’s soul was attached to it. Still, a haunted piano ended up becoming a money maker for the club.

I take a seat at a table with my other colleagues, putting my hands behind my head, “So, what’s the deal, boys?”

“It’s Hightower, Harper,” Otis says, folding his lanky arms over his chest. “He’s going after the Shiriki Utundu.”

Harrison Hightower. It figures. It had to be Hightower for Fletcher and Otis to be so worried. The snake in the grass that betrayed me all those years ago. His name alone brings me back to that day on the Mekong River, in the old Cambodian temple. Before then he was my partner, my mentor. But that was the first day I beat him to a find, something his ego couldn’t take. He shot me in the face, scaring me for life, took my find, and left me to die in the snake infested temple. It’s a miracle I found my way out, let alone survived.

He’s gone on to be one of the world’s most famous adventures, and one of the richest. He owns the most famous hotels in America, one in Hollywood and one in New York, and he also keeps up with exploring, though everyone knows he’s the least honorable of us out there.

And the Shiriki Utundu? The mere mention of it makes my skin crawl. Legend has it that the idol grants great power to anyone that finds it, and has been held by men such as Xerxes and Genghis Khan. But it’s also said that the idol curses the user, corrupting their souls and damning them to an existence like that of the living dead. Something right up Hightower’s alley. And I’ve got to stop him from obtaining it, “When do I start?”

“Tonight,” Fletcher smiles, handing me a piece of paper. “Hathaway will be joining you, along with some other team members. We know your boat is in Africa, but you’ll need to find the exact route to the idol’s resting place through a series of clues across the planet. And to do that and catch up with Hightower, you’ll need plenty of help. We set you up with the fastest transport we can find.”

I don’t waste anytime. Hathaway and I say our goodbyes to our friends in the club and head out onto the streets of Pleasure Island. The mood of my friend and I isn’t lost on the powers that be, and rain starts to drip down on us from above. We stop off at each of our homes, picking up clothes and supplies for the trip, and then head to the docks.

By the time we reach our destination, the rain is pelting us, making it almost impossible to see. On the far end of the boardwalk we see a man wave us down. As we approach, his Indian accent calls to us, “Mr. Davis? Mr. Brown? I’m glad you have come. Please hurry, every minute we waste dooms us all.”

“I don’t even see a boat here! What are we hurrying to?” Almost immediately as the words leave my mouth, a giant submersible springs from the sea water, glistening in the lights. It’s both terrifying and beautiful at the same time, and is obviously the work of a great scientific mind.

​

“This is the Nautilus, my friends. She is the fastest vessel in the sea…” the Indian says proudly. “And my name is Captain Nemo, you pilot, ally, and host on this expedition.”

 

[Carnage27]

For anyone that needs some references from that post if you aren't as familiar with the subject matter as I am.

Jungle Cruise
Harrison Hightower, the Shiriki Utundu, and his hotels
The Adventurer's Club and its cast of characters

 

[Andy C.]

Good stuff, Carnage.

Anyone else gonna give it a shot?





........anyone?





.......anyone?







...............Bueller?







Man, guess it's gonna be a long month for Carnage to wait for his cake.

 

[wiegeabo]

This cake prize is just a scam to learn our real addresses so you can stalk us/steal our identities.

Admit it!

 

[Carnage27]

Come on! I'd like for someone to challenge me damn it!

 

[Rain Dog]

Oh don't worry. Someone will.

 

[Carnage27]

Oh don't worry. Someone will.

Good!

 

[Rain Dog]

Good!

Why are we angry?

 

[Byrd Man]

I gotta story, just trying to figure out all the finer points before I post it.

 

[wiegeabo]

Why are we angry?

Because you're channeling Frank Miller.

 

[Rain Dog]

DOWNTOWN DISNEY​

The night is hot as hell. Muggy too. Goddamned jeans are sticking to the inside of my legs as I swelter in my own coat. I check my watch. She’s late. Not like her to be late. I light up another cig and keep my eyes glued to that street corner, just hoping that any minute now, her pretty little head will poke out from behind.

Half an hour goes by. Nothing. I take a last drag of my little golden stub of a cig and flick it. Something’s wrong. Something’s very wrong.

* * *​

HORSECOLLAR’S​

I push through the dingy joint’s swinging, old-west styled doors and take in a lung full of Horsecollar’s oh so familiar air. The combined aromas of booze, smoke, sweat, and vomit come rushing through the nostrils. It might make a newbie gag but when you come here enough, you get used to it. I take a seat at the bar next to a bunch of drunken schmucks who’ve had too much drink, ready to slump forward any minute and drown in their glasses.

“Hey,” a voice calls out from behind. I turn around and see this burly son of a ***** looking down at me, real pissed about something.

“You’re in my seat.”

“Am I?”

I turn back around and call for the barkeep.

“I’m talking to you *******! Get out of my seat!”

He grabs my shoulder and tries to yank me off. Bad move. I secure his hand with mine as I spin around. I thrust my free hand upwards into his elbow. I hear a nice loud ‘POP’ as I see a milky white bone come tearing through his flesh, splattering blood all over the place. Some of it hits the guys next to me but they know better than to say anything about it. The prick screams and crumples to the ground, and I turn back around to see the barkeep waiting on my order.

“Aw geez. Jessie! Clean up!” he shouts to a waitress. He looks back at me.

“He was new here, Mick, he didn’t know. You could of went easy on the poor bastard.”

“Yeah. I could of.”

“What’ll it be?”

“A shot and a brew. And keep it coming.”

Horace kneels under the counter and grabs a cold one and a bottle of whiskey. He pops open the brew and sets it down in front of me, then starts pouring the shot.

“What brings you here tonight, Mick?”

“Lookin’ for someone.”

“Someone I know?”

“Maybe. Met her here a few nights ago. We left together.”

“Ooh. Peg’s girl?”

I nod and gulp down the shot. It burns its way down my throat, lighting a fire in my stomach.

“Was supposed to meet her on fifty third and third about two hours ago. No show. Not like her. I think something might have happened to her. And I think Peg’s got something to do with it.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me.”

“You happen to see anything suspicious around these parts?”

“Only every night.”

“You know what I mean, Horace.”

“Well…there was this underboss working for Peg in here earlier. Never seen him before. Brazilian guy surrounded by a bunch of goons. Looked way too classy to be in a dive like this. He mentioned a girl a few times. Also said something about Pleasure Island.”

“That all?”

“That’s all I got.”

I gulp down the rest of the beer and jump off the stool.

“Put it on my tab, Horace.”

This Brazilian prick has something to do with it. I can feel it in my gut. And I’m buzzed enough to go on a gritty, cross-town, visually-stimulating-though-lacking-in-serious-character-development-and-real-plot, murderous rampage to find him.

 

[Andy C.]

Awesome. Keep it coming, man!

 

[wiegeabo]

I don't even have to read it. That pic of Mickey wins it all.

 

[Carnage27]

Nice work, Rain Dog. I can't go cartoon characters anymore. I'm so sick of them...haha.

I'll probably have Part 2 for my story up either tomorrow or Saturday.

Expect the Caribbean to play a part.

 

[Andy C.]

So...I guess that's it. Since only two folks entered, I s'pose I can send a cake to both of ya.

To everybody else: **** y'all.

 

[Carnage27]

So...I guess that's it. Since only two folks entered, I s'pose I can send a cake to both of ya.

To everybody else: **** y'all.

Damn it! I really wanted to finish my story. Damn school and damn my job!

 

[Rain Dog]

Yeah I did too. I got half of part 2 written up but then somethings came up.

 

[Optikal]

hopefully the next topic will stimulate my creative juices next time.

 

[The Question]

Will there be another one?

 

[Andy C.]

Indeed there will. I'm wanting to do this as like a two-or-three-times-a-year thing, hopefully with a little more fanfare next time to get more people involved. But yes, KotB II will be happening.

(I still need to send this round's participants their cake, though)